


Dawn

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-06
Updated: 2006-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys spend the night in a barn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

The barn smells like mildew and manure, but it's an old smell, faded and gentle, mingled with the scents of damp wood and rain.

Sam slides the barn door open and stands in the doorway. The sun isn't up yet, but the sky in the east is pink and gold. The clouds are gone, but so are the stars. Birds are twittering like crazy in the trees around the old barn, and the fallow fields are quiet and empty. It rained most of the night; the air is cool but heavy, the humidity so thick he can almost taste it. In the shadow of the trees, the car is a dark, still, oblong shape. Probably mired in a few inches of mud, he thinks, shaking his head. That'll be fun to dig out.

Turning away from the door, he walks back across the barn. The floorboards creak quietly under his bare feet, and he tries not to think about what he might be stepping on.

Dean is still out like a baby, sprawled in his back on the pile of ratty hay they used as a bed. In the scant early morning light, Sam can't see the fresh bruises lining his jaw or the cuts on his palms that he'd insisted were no big deal when Sam tried to take a look at them. He looks relaxed, almost peaceful, with one of Sam's old plaid shirts bunched up under his head as a pillow.

Sam settles onto the hay beside Dean, close enough that he can feel Dean's body heat in the morning chill. He stretches his legs out, leans back on his elbows, breathes in deeply.

It ain't the Ritz, but they're warm and dry and nothing tried to eat them in the night. They've slept in worse places, and they'll be on the road again before long. They'll find a diner with a cheap menu and a cute waitress and hot coffee, toss around the tips they've been collecting these last few weeks, pick a spot on the map and fill up the tank and hit the road. It's a routine.

That ought to be strange, he thinks, how routine this fucked-up life of theirs can be. It ought to be strange, not comforting.

Sunlight slants over the horizon, peeking through the open barn door and stretching across the wooden floor toward them. Dean shifts in his sleep, scratching his nose and rolling onto his side, almost like he feels the pale rays brushing his skin. There are goose bumps on his bare arms. Sam smiles and reaches over, shakes out his old plaid shirt and drapes it over Dean, sits back again.

The hay itches his elbows, tickles his ankles, scratches the back of his neck when he lies down. He can feel the sunlight growing stronger, warming his bare feet, chasing the dew from the fields. He closes his eyes and listens to the birds.

No reason to be awake just yet, he thinks. They've got no particular place to be.


End file.
